


Coming Together

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is pleasantly surprised to hear that Northfield Park will once again be inhabited. He's even more pleasantly surprised when he meets the new tenant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Tenants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersinxeirhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersinxeirhair/gifts).



> So, Sacha, I hope you like your gift! I tried my best to make it regency-ish, but you'll notice the language isn't perfect and I didn't do extensive research or anything.
> 
> Also, it is very shamelessly a mash of Jane Austen. If you think a part of it is based off of Emma, Pride & Prejudice, or Northanger Abbey--that's because it is. Enjoy. :)

“Cosette, how lovely to see you,” Courfeyrac greeted, when he noticed her being led into the drawing room. He pushed away his writing materials. “Thank you for joining me—I was going mad without your company.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” she answered sweetly, taking a seat. “I’ve felt much the same. My trip was charming, but I missed my dear friends.”

Courfeyrac smiled, pleased to hear her say that, though he knew it already. The two of them had been close friends almost since Cosette first came to live in the countryside with Jean Valjean. Without her, Courfeyrac really had been going mad from boredom. Especially since— “Did you get my letter about Musichetta’s marriage?”

“Oh yes! I was so pleased to hear about that,” Cosette said, and sounded as happy as her words suggested.

“It was a shame it happened while you were away, but it couldn’t be postponed.”

Cosette nodded, not seeming remotely offended. Courfeyrac thought, not for the first time, that she was far better than he deserved in a friend. “Yes, her new husband is a travelling doctor?”

“That he is,” Courfeyrac confirmed. “A Mr. Joly. He’s a lovely fellow—incredibly charming. Musichetta was taken with him from the start. So was Bossuet,” he added, with amusement.

“And Bossuet—“

“Don’t fret, he left to accompany the newly married couple. I have a feeling they will find an arrangement that suits them, if they haven’t already.” His grin and tone held a bit of bawdiness that Cosette politely waved off.  

“Well, I am pleased for them,” Cosette said decidedly.

Courfeyrac nodded his agreement. “And _I_ am pleased I could play a part in getting them to be so happy.”

Cosette shook her head, clearly amused, and Courfeyrac was reminded of how many times they had conversed about his matchmaking inclinations. Luckily, they were interrupted by their tea being brought in before they could spiral down the rabbit hole of that particular argument.

“Did you hear,” Cosette said conspiratorially once they were alone again, “that Northfield Park is to be let?”

“No!” Courfeyrac leaned in over the table, delighted. Northfield Park had been mostly uninhabited since he was a child, the owners choosing to spend their time elsewhere. Various people had rented the property for brief periods, but no one lasted very long. Eventually all renting stopped and the place had been empty for years. “Who is renting it? What have you heard about these new neighbors?”

Cosette shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. “Nothing, sadly. All I know is that the staff size has been increased and they spent the past week cleaning in preparation.”

The lack of details to this gossip was depressing, of course, but Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm was hard to crush. It wasn’t very often that they got new neighbors. “Do you imagine they know the place is haunted?”

Cosette scoffed, looking at him in amusement. “You don’t truly believe—“

“If any place is haunted by spirits, it is Northfield Park. You heard what the old housekeeper said.”

“Those were nothing more than stories told to frighten children. You should know better at your age,” Cosette chastised lightly. They’d had this conversation a number of times, and he knew she meant no offense. “You let those novels you read go to your head.”

“You have no sense of adventure,” Courfeyrac countered, sipping his tea. “If you would only _read_ the novels, you might—“

“Let us refrain from ruining a nice afternoon with our bickering,” Cosette interrupted, and Courfeyrac had to agree with her (despite the fact that her disinterest in gothic novels was an atrocity).

He let it go and slipped back into the original topic. “Do you at least know when the new tenants are to move in?”

“No,” she said, looking properly sorry. “But it must be soon. I’d say within a week’s time.”

“Well, I hope for all our sakes that you are right. There’s absolutely nothing else to talk about lately.”

Cosette laughed at him, reaching across the table to pat his hand consolingly. “If anyone can find new drama, it’s you.”

Courfeyrac couldn’t quite be offended by that.

**

As it turned out, Cosette’s estimate was correct. Just under a week later, Northfield Park’s new inhabitants moved in, and Courfeyrac was among the first to find out.

He was in town on that particular Wednesday, eyeing up shop windows. It was about time he got a new coat—or maybe a hat. Perhaps both. That was when he noticed a man, looking to be around his age, accompanied by two young women. Though noticing people was hardly a remarkable thing, what _was_ remarkable was that Courfeyrac had no idea who they were.

Courfeyrac prided himself on a number of things—being well-dressed, for example—but there was nothing he was more proud of than the fact that he knew just about everyone of note in town and the surrounding countryside and, perhaps more importantly, knew all of their gossip. But this tall, handsome stranger? As familiar as he looked, Courfeyrac was certain he didn’t know who he was—or who the young ladies were, for that matter.

Courfeyrac entered the shop on impulse and did his best to look interested in a hat display across the room from the strangers. He watched (very sneakily, of course) as the two young women got excited, saying something about silks, before following the shop keeper towards the back room. The man stayed, watching them fondly before turning to idly examine some fabrics. This was Courfeyrac’s chance.

He casually made his way across the room, pretending to look over the different wares until he just so happened to be near the stranger. “Lovely little store, isn’t it?” He had to glance slightly up as he spoke to see the man’s face—he was nearly a head taller than Courfeyrac.

The man startled, looking at him with intrigue. “I suppose so.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” Courfeyrac continued with his small talk, faking an interest in a fabric on the table in front of them.

“No,” he gave a bit of a sigh, but it was fond. “I’m afraid I’m here today solely to pay for goods and carry them home.”

“Well that isn’t very fair, now is it?”

The stranger smiled, and Courfeyrac was momentarily awed by the beauty of his perfect teeth and soft expression. “It never seems to be. Alas, it is my role.”

“Then you, my friend, need to force change—stop standing passively in your own life—take action,” Courfeyrac teased. He picked up a bolt of blue fabric and draped it around his acquaintance’s neck. “Now, this color looks marvelous on you.”

The man laughed and the sound was even warmer than his smile. “I—do you work here?”

“What?” Courfeyrac looked at him in confusion. “Of course not.”

“Well, you’re awfully invested in my shopping habits for someone who has no stake in the matter.”

At that, Courfeyrac grinned. “I am equally invested in all matters of fashion. Now, I think this would make a very dashing waistcoat on you. Your thoughts?”

He laughed again, grabbing the corner of the fabric to hold and examine. Before he could answer, though, they were interrupted.

“Henry!” One of the young women immerged from the back room, excited and impatient. “We’ve decided what we want—come see.”

She disappeared just as quickly and the man— _Henry_ —shook his head. “What she really means,” he shared with a wry smile, “is come _pay_.”

Courfeyrac smiled back, though he felt oddly disappointed when Henry removed the fabric from around his shoulders and neatly folded it once more for the display.

“Thank you for your fashion advice,” Henry said, clearly amused. “But I should go attend to that pressing matter before she returns to yell at me.”

Courfeyrac gave a smile that was only _mostly_ forced. “I hope to see you around,” he said, trying to come off as polite rather than desperate.

“I’m sure you will,” Henry answered kindly, nodding a farewell before he retreated to the back room.

Courfeyrac waited only a few moments before leaving the shop.

**

Courfeyrac was thrumming with excitement when he arrived at Cosette’s home. Bahorel and Feuilly met him at the stables, greeting him warmly.

“I have the best news,” Courfeyrac said, wasting no time. “I ran into the new tenants of Northfield Park.”

They didn’t respond with quite the level of enthusiasm that Courfeyrac was looking for, but Bahorel did have the decency to look intrigued at least. “Oh, did you?” he said.

Feuilly only rolled his eyes. “I’ll take care of your horse, you two go inside. That way you can tell your story to Miss. Fauchelevent and this gossipy hen at the same time.”

Bahorel shoved Feuilly lightly—but both of them looked overwhelmingly fond. That, Courfeyrac would be noting away for further study later. He _had_ always thought there was a spark between them…. But no, that was hardly the priority now.

Inside, they found Cosette by the fireplace.

“Miss. Fauchelevent, Mr. Courfeyrac is—“

“Bahorel,” she interrupted, setting down the book she was reading. “You know you can call me Cosette in front of him.”

Bahorel raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “I can never sure who might be in a room without my knowledge,” he defended. “Your father is lenient, but other people are not so kind to servants acting… familiar.”

“Well, you are safe in this room. It is only the three of us,” Cosette assured, before turning her attention. “Good to see you, Courfeyrac.”

“You too,” Courfeyrac joined her by the fire. “I have the most wonderful news, Cosette—I met the new tenants of Northfield Park.”

“Really?” Cosette asked, surprise and delight on her face. Now that was the response that she was looking for.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac grinned, ready to paint her a picture. “Not an hour ago, I was in town and I noticed _strangers_ in a shop. A tall, handsome man with two young women—“

“Oh, wonderful,” Cosette interjected, sounding pleased. “We could use some more nice women around here.”

Courfeyrac nodded, but it was clear his interests were elsewhere. “ _Anyway_ , the man. He was dashing and very charming. We talked only briefly, but I like him immensely already—and you know I have impeccable judgment.”

Bahorel snorted from his place on the other side of Cosette.

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes into a glare, playing at taking offense. “Do you disagree, good sir?”

“That bright green coat you like to wear disagrees, my good sir,” Bahorel jested back.

Courfeyrac gave a wounded gasp. “You, my friend, are the one without taste! I look magnificent in that, as I do in everything.”

Cosette was giggling quietly at their antics by now, and waved a hand dismissively at the two of them. “What else happened with the handsome stranger?”

 “Alas, nothing,” Courfeyrac sighed dramatically. “All I know is that he would look lovely in blue and his name is Henry.”

“You mean to say, you don’t remember who he is?” Bahorel asked, looking very confused. “I thought you were simply putting on a show for Cosette.”

“Of course I don’t—we’ve never been introduced,” Courfeyrac answered. “Wait—you know him?”

Bahorel nodded. “Of course I do. The inhabitants of Northfield Park are the Combeferres. The family has returned.”

“What?” Courfeyrac gaped. Cosette was looking between the two of them with intrigue. “No, you must be mistaken—I remember the Combeferre family. That was not one of them.”

“Your memories are from when you were a child,” Bahorel corrected, surprisingly kind considering how much he generally enjoyed proving Courfeyrac wrong. “Just as you have grown up, so too have the Combeferre children.”

Courfeyrac sat silent, completely thrown off. He was only five when the Combeferre family left, which meant nearly two decades had passed. He supposed Bahorel was right. Which meant the handsome stranger was the eldest Combeferre child and Courfeyrac’s childhood playmate.

Henry Combeferre, if Courfeyrac remembered correctly, was only a year or two older than him. He had spent a lot of their shared childhood sharing his toys and trying to teach Courfeyrac the more advanced spelling lessons he was learning. Courfeyrac had, in return, been a little hellion who did his best to distract Combeferre from lessons and get him into trouble. Courfeyrac could remember very clearly how distraught he was when the Combeferre family moved away.

“I am surprised I didn’t remember him,” Courfeyrac said after a moment. He turned his attention to Bahorel, who seemed to know more about this. “Why have they returned after all this time? Oh—has he married and his father gifted him the property?”

Bahorel looked serious, which gave Courfeyrac a bad feeling immediately. Gossip of this nature was normally accompanied by knowing smiles and gleeful looks.

“His parents died last year,” Bahorel said, and there it was. “From what I gather, he has come with his sisters to keep them out of harm’s way. That, and he obviously has to decide what to do with the property now that it is in his care. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold it.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “It is a lovely manor.”

“You call it haunted constantly,” Cosette reprimanded lightly. “But now that dashing, charming Henry Combeferre might sell it, you find it lovely?”

“I have always found it lovely. Loveliness and hauntedness are not mutually exclusive traits,” Courfeyrac argued. “Anyway, I merely find it disappointing that we may not have the time to reconnect with the Combeferres now that they have rejoined our community.”

“Of course,” Cosette said in a way that clearly meant she was humoring him.

“Was it not you who said we need more young ladies to befriend? And now you don’t care that they may leave?”

“You’re right, Courfeyrac,” she said in the same tone. “We simply must do what we can to convince them they should stay.”

“Exactly,” Courfeyrac grinned, ignoring the fact that she was mocking him just a little. “And I know just how we’ll do it.”

**

Three days passed in a fit of impatience for Courfeyrac. He wanted to stop by Northfield Park three days ago to reintroduce himself to the Combeferres, but Cosette insisted they be polite and, instead, had her father issue an invitation for tea. Naturally, Courfeyrac had informed her that if he wasn’t invited to attend, she would lose his acquaintance forever. (She laughed.)

Courfeyrac was surprised on the day of their reintroduction when Combeferre arrived with four young ladies and one man in his company. The ladies were his sisters (Courfeyrac only remembered one of them from their childhood) and the man, a close friend named Enjolras.

Tea in the presence of Valjean was enjoyable as always, but it was hardly an opportunity for Courfeyrac to talk to Combeferre. And with the size of the party, it was hard to even focus the attention on Combeferre. The introductions, questions about how they found the countryside, and normal chatter was instead mostly answered by the four sisters. It wasn’t until after tea that Courfeyrac had a real chance.

Thankfully, Valjean and Enjolras seemed to have much to discuss, Valjean leading him to the office. Cosette, giving Courfeyrac a knowing smile, led the ladies to a different room to hold court. That left Courfeyrac the perfect opportunity to steal Combeferre away.

“Would you like to see the parlor?” Courfeyrac asked, leading Combeferre when he agreed amiably.

They were quiet for a moment as they sat by the fireplace, then both started to speak at once.

Courfeyrac laughed it off. “You first.”

Combeferre gifted him with a smile. “I only meant to say that this has been a lovely afternoon, and it has been nice to see you again.”

Courfeyrac smiled back, ignoring the flutter of his heart. It really didn’t mean anything that Combeferre was pleased to see him. Not at all. “Did you remember me at the shop?” he asked, bluntly and not at all as he was intending.

“No,” Combeferre said. “You have changed quite a bit, Gabriel.”

Combeferre looked him over as he said this, and Courfeyrac had to work very hard to keep from seeming as flustered as he was.

“So have you,” Courfeyrac said, maintaining his calm nature. “You’re certainly taller than I remember.”

Combeferre laughed lightly. “I think you may be the same height,” he teased.

Courfeyrac gave his best mock-offended face. “How dare you, sir!”

Combeferre gave a charming grin. “Regardless, it _is_ good to see you again, after all these years.”

“I only wish it had not taken so long for you to return.”

Combeferre sobered momentarily, and Courfeyrac regretted saying something which inadvertently raised the thought of the unpleasant circumstances that had led to Combeferre’s return. Courfeyrac acted quickly to change the topic.

“You know, you were my closest and favorite friend as a child.”

It worked. Combeferre smiled. “I always enjoyed your company. My best memories from living here seem to all involve you.”

Courfeyrac was touched, but tried not to show it. “Despite the fact that I was constantly involving you in trouble?”

“Possibly _because_ of that fact,” Combeferre laughed. “You always convinced me to do what I would otherwise never dare.”

Courfeyrac smiled, leaning a little closer without realizing it. “Well, you never took much convincing. You are secretly a very daring person.”

Combeferre unconsciously leaned in as well, matching his smile. Courfeyrac could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes. “I doubt many other people would agree with you on that.”

“Then they don’t know you as well as I,” Courfeyrac said with bravado. There was some truth to his statement, he thought. He felt connected to Combeferre in a way that he didn’t feel with anyone else—and he knew Combeferre must feel the same.

At the same time, he would acknowledge the fact that having been separated for so many years meant there was plenty he didn’t know about Combeferre. Which meant they had to make up for those years. “You should join me for dinner sometime,” he said, unthinkingly. “Or tea,” he clarified, realizing how intimate dinner might sound. “You could bring your sisters. I’m sure my mother would be pleased to have some company.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Combeferre replied genuinely. “My sisters are already determined to have me engage more with our neighbors. I was incredibly thankful for Mr. Valjean’s invitation—they have been pressuring me to host a ball, but this may delay their pestering.”

Courfeyrac lit up. “A ball?”

“No, not you too,” Combeferre gave an exaggerated groan that was accompanied by mirth.

“I simply think it would be a delightful event,” Courfeyrac protested. “The neighbors would ardently admire you for it.”

“And you would as well?”

Courfeyrac tried not to flush. “Yes. I am always delighted by those who bring entertainment. For you to do so would truly mark you as a dear friend.”

The slightest upturn of a smile appeared on Combeferre’s face, and Courfeyrac was certain it was a pleased sort of look. “Alright. I suppose I have no choice.”

The conversation turned to other matters, until they were interrupted by Cosette and the Combeferre sisters telling them it was starting to get late.

Courfeyrac and Cosette accompanied the group to the front hall to bid them goodbye. As he did so, Courfeyrac was certain to give Combeferre a mischievous look and add, “I look forward to attending your ball—you simply _must_ pick a date soon.”

Combeferre flashed him a wounded look, though a smile tugged at his lips, as his sisters immediately latched on to the hope of a ball.

“You said yes?” One squealed with delight.

“Yes, yes,” Combeferre said calmly, meeting Courfeyrac’s gaze as he spoke. “You have Mr. Courfeyrac to thank. He was very persuasive on the matter.”

Courfeyrac ducked his head, willing the heat of his cheeks to dissipate. He recovered with a cocky smile and fielded the sisters’ disbelief before they, and their brother, were out the door.

Even after they were gone and Cosette started to chatter to him about how well the afternoon had gone, Courfeyrac could see the way Combeferre had looked at him very clearly in his mind.


	2. The Ball

Courfeyrac arrived early to accompany Cosette to Northfield Park—early enough that Cosette was still in her room getting ready. He waited for her, buzzing with energy. Tonight was the much anticipated ball and he was far past ready for it.

It had taken a few weeks for the ball to be planned, and in that time Courfeyrac had had the pleasure of seeing Combeferre on five different occasions, but they still had yet to arrange a dinner. (Courfeyrac was determined to host Combeferre, but his mother had not felt up to having company). Courfeyrac was intent on spending plenty of time with Combeferre tonight to make up for it.

“You are a vision of loveliness,” Courfeyrac said as Cosette entered the drawing room wearing a fashionable light pink dress.

“You look very dashing yourself,” Cosette responded, smiling.

Courfeyrac grinned at the compliment, straightening his jacket. He had gone with a more daring choice, a bottle green jacket that was sure to make him stand out amongst the more usual choices of black and dark blue.

“In fact, you look _so_ dashing, and without being late, that I would almost think you are looking to impress someone,” she added slyly.

Courfeyrac scowled at her. “Ridiculous,” he said, sounding like a huffing child.

“You know,” Cosette said idly, smirking ever so slightly, “Eliza Combeferre told me told me that she and her sisters begged their brother for weeks to host a ball, all to no avail.”

“ _Cosette—_ “

“—And all it took from you was a single hour.”

Courfeyrac shook his head, trying to dismiss the topic. “Cosette, I believe we ought to leave if we wish to arrive on time.”

“Gabriel,” she said with a soft warmth that could only come from years of close friendship. “You know that I am supportive of your… interests.” Courfeyrac did his very best to not snort at that, because this was a serious moment. “But I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I am not doing anything,” Courfeyrac lied confidently. “Though I appreciate your concern as always.”

Cosette smiled at him softly in a way that made it very clear that she did not believe him and was still worried.

“May we leave?”

She nodded, and Courfeyrac felt relieved when the conversation on the carriage ride to Northfield Park stayed light.

**

“I hope you are enjoying yourself.”

Courfeyrac jumped, spinning around to find Combeferre.

“Oh, I apologize,” Combeferre said, though the fact that he was laughing indicated that he didn’t feel very sorry. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Not frightened,” Courfeyrac grumbled, trying to compose himself. “I am merely… thrilled to see you. Thrilled enough to jump.”

Combeferre grinned, giving a nod. “Of course.”

It was then that Courfeyrac got a good look at Combeferre for the first time since he had arrived nearly an hour ago. Combeferre looked handsome as ever in his formal wear, but there was one thing that stood out; he was wearing a blue waistcoat. A very specific color blue that Courfeyrac remembered well. He couldn’t help grinning.

“We should dance,” Courfeyrac decided boldly.

Combeferre looked skeptical. “I was not planning on doing more than a dance or two—I would not know who to ask aside from my sisters, and they’re all currently engaged.”

“No, I meant we should dance together.”

Combeferre’s expression changed to one of surprise. “That is not—I mean to say, it is hardly proper,” he said, fumbling for words.

Courfeyrac shrugged it off, though his heart was pounding. “Propriety should always be ignored in favor of a good time.”

“I don’t know…” Combeferre looked hesitant, but Courfeyrac took it as a good sign that he hadn’t outright said no.

“You enjoyed my schemes as a child,” Courfeyrac pushed lightly. “And now we are too old to be punished for foolish behavior.”

Combeferre smiled at that. “Alright.”

“Great,” Courfeyrac lit up with a smile. He confidently led Combeferre towards the other dancers who were just lining up for the next song. At first, no one noticed when they stood across from each other, but, before long, there were definitely eyes on Courfeyrac amongst the ladies.

Courfeyrac was not easily embarrassed by attention; he tuned out the whispers around him. Besides, their neighbors were aware of the antics Courfeyrac got up to and viewed them with indulgence and amusement rather than scorn.

The music started and Courfeyrac gave Combeferre a wink as they began the dance. He laughed when he faltered in the steps once they met in the middle. “I’m afraid I am not used to being led.”

Combeferre smiled back at him. “I am not surprised. You’ve always been a leader.”

“Well, if anyone is to lead me, I am glad it is you.”

Courfeyrac could have sworn he saw a flush spread on Combeferre’s cheeks, but it was probably just the exertion of dancing.

The song ended before he knew it. Smiling and a little out of breath, Courfeyrac led Combeferre away from the dance floor. “See? That was enjoyable, was it not?”

Combeferre grinned back at him. “I must admit I had a good time.”

“Good.” Courfeyrac saw a few older ladies approaching them, no doubt hoping to sweep Combeferre away to get all of the best gossip out of him. “We should go out to the gardens,” he said impulsively.

Combeferre nodded, leading Courfeyrac away. It took everything he had to not give the gossipy ladies a smug look.

The night air was chilled, but it felt good on Courfeyrac’s skin. The two of them slowly walked out towards the flower beds, careful not to venture too far into the darkness.

“I have to say, Mr. Combeferre, you host a marvelous social event,” Courfeyrac said after some silence. They were walking close enough that every so often their arms brushed.

“I’m very glad you came.” Combeferre’s voice was low and soft, as sweet as honey. It felt as if he was saying _I did this all for you._

Clearly Cosette was getting in his head now. Courfeyrac shook away the thought.

“Do you like it here at Northfield, Henry?”

Combeferre smiled warmly. “Very much so. I almost forgot how beautiful this part of the country is. And the company is, of course, very amiable.”

Courfeyrac naturally took that part personally, and had to tamper down how happy it made him feel. He wanted to act normally around Combeferre—to remain calm and collect and continue giving off a good impression. Instead, he promptly blurted out, “Did you hear Northfield Park is haunted?”

To his credit, Combeferre did not give Courfeyrac a strange look or even laugh at him. In fact, he looked a mixture of amused and intrigued. “Is it now?”

“Well,” Courfeyrac continued more sheepishly. “That is what people say. It has been so long since you left Northfield, and no tenants ever stayed very long—and the old housekeeper was certain she saw a number of spirits.”

Combeferre hummed his interest. “I would be amenable to sharing my home with spirits, so long as they were not particularly malevolent, but I can assure you that I have encountered nothing particularly ghostly since our arrival.”

Courfeyrac perked up, more at the first part than the second. “You believe in ghost stories, then? Cosette always calls me childish for my interest.”

“There’s nothing childish about enjoying a good story and being open to the idea of the supernatural,” Combeferre insisted lightly.

Courfeyrac was more sure than ever that they were meant to be close.

“In fact,” Combeferre continued. “You are welcome to stay at Northfield sometime if you wish to try and find these spirits.”

His heart fluttered; Combeferre wanted him around.

“That sounds quite exciting,” he replied, holding back his grin as much as he could. “I would love to, though I must insist you do me the favor of coming to dinner at my home first.”

Combeferre smiled beautifully. “Of course. I will be pleased to accept your invitation just as soon as you extend it.”

“Perfect. You shan’t wait long.”

They walked in silence for a moment. At some point, they had turned and circled back towards the house. They were nearly to the back doors and Courfeyrac could feel this spell—the feeling that they were the only two in the world—lifting. It was time to go back inside, to stop hogging the attention of the host.

“We should return.” Combeferre echoed his thoughts, and Courfeyrac nodded. Both of them lingered for as long as they reasonably could.

Inside, they were overwhelmed by heat and noise and light once more.

“I hope you find a place near my sisters and me for dinner,” Combeferre insisted more than suggested.

Courfeyrac nodded his agreement, but didn’t get a chance to voice it before Combeferre was swept into a different conversation by another guest.

Regardless, Courfeyrac was filled with a shining warmth for the rest of the evening.


	3. Returning and Leaving

Courfeyrac didn’t wait long before he made good on his invitation to have Combeferre over for dinner. Once his mother was feeling marginally better and more open to entertaining, he sent out formal written invitations to Combeferre, his sisters, and Enjolras, as well as Cosette. Everything was all set and planned, from the seating to the menu, when Marius Pontmercy came back.

Marius had been gone for months, visiting sick family members, and Courfeyrac was ecstatic to see him once more.  The two of them had become quite close when they had met during their schooling and, if it weren’t for Cosette (and now Combeferre), he would have no problem calling Marius his very closest friend.

It was just two days before Courfeyrac’s dinner when Marius returned so, without hesitation, Courfeyrac insisted Marius attend and very quickly rearranged some details to make it at least partially a ‘welcome home’ event for his dear friend.

Courfeyrac wasn’t surprised when the event turned out to be quite a hit—he had invited his favorite people all into one room, of course it was going to be a good time. But he was slightly disappointed to realize that, as the host, he had far less time with Combeferre than he expected. Instead he was facilitating conversations, keeping his eye on everything and making sure everyone was getting along as splendidly as he hoped.

There was also a more pleasant surprise. Amidst the comfortable conversations, Courfeyrac noticed a certain connection between his dear Marius and the eldest Combeferre sister, Eliza. He saw the interest Eliza took in everything Marius had to say, and the way Marius flushed pink when she paid attention to him. Courfeyrac was unsurprisingly delighted to see two people he was so fond of enjoying each other’s company. He was filled with ideas almost immediately, ways to make them understand what a good match they would be for one another. It would only be a matter of setting his plans in motion.

**

The plan took shape almost immediately. First, Courfeyrac did his best to get a feel for his new couple-in-progress. When he heard Cosette was to go out to town with the Combeferre sisters, he insisted on accompanying them and spent the day learning about Eliza and dropping hints about Marius.

Just a few weeks later, when the weather turned pleasant and warm, Courfeyrac planned an excursion for a picnic with the inhabitants of Northfield Park, Cosette, and Marius. It started as a smashing success, with good food and good company.

“We should go for a walk,” Courfeyrac proposed when they finished their light meal, intending for a large walking party paired off in twos (and naturally, he would make sure Marius and Eliza were paired).

No one seemed very interested—and then Combeferre spoke up. “That sounds very agreeable.”

Courfeyrac tried to stay casual; this wasn’t his plan, but this was almost better. He hurried to his feet to get on with their walk before anyone could change their mind and come along. Thankfully, no one did.

They were mostly silent until they were well onto a path along a pond.

“It is a lovely day,” Courfeyrac commented.

But Combeferre ignored the small talk. “You should come stay at Northfield Park soon,” he said, looking a little nervous as he spoke—as if he thought Courfeyrac would rebuff his offer. (He would never.) “You know, to see if you can find any spirits.”

Courfeyrac beamed. “I would love nothing more,” he insisted very honestly. Intentionally, he walked closer to Combeferre and their arms brushed. “I enjoy your company deeply.”

Combeferre looked as happy as Courfeyrac felt. “I feel very much the same.”

Their fingers brushed and Courfeyrac was tempted, not for the first time, to lace their fingers. He refrained.

Their conversation turned light again, as if they were too afraid to ruin the moment, but it was just as lovely. It put Courfeyrac in an even better mood and made him more determined to make a pair of Marius and Eliza.

The ladies decided to sit by the water, and Combeferre and Enjolras accompanied them, leaving Courfeyrac with the perfect opportunity to speak with Marius.

“Today has been quite a success, don’t you agree?” he started very casually.

“Yes,” Marius agreed enthusiastically. “You always plan such wonderful outings.”

Courfeyrac smiled at how genuine and pleasant Marius was. “And the company is delightful.”

“You seem very close to Combeferre,” Marius commented.

Courfeyrac flushed a little, and was quick to control the conversation again. “Combeferre is very pleasant. As are the ladies with us, don’t you agree?”

At this, Courfeyrac saw the tiniest bit of pink on Marius cheeks and delighted. “Yes, they are.”

“You and Eliza seemed to have quite a few interests in common.”

“I have not heard her play, but I am convinced by the way she speaks that she is a splendid pianist,” Marius shared with excitement. That was a good sign.

“And the entire family is a delight. Anyone would be lucky to become a part of them.”

Marius looked at him knowingly and Courfeyrac was glad that he seemed to be taking the hint. “Do you think?”

“I cannot imagine anything more pleasant than marrying a Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said, and he felt a deep honesty in his statement—though he would admit that he was not thinking about Eliza or any of her sisters. “And Eliza is quite beautiful.”

At that, Marius looked very suddenly confused. “I suppose so,” he agreed.

That was less of a good sign—though Courfeyrac assumed it was simply Marius’ naturally shy nature. Before Courfeyrac could go on convincing Marius, there was a rustling noise and Enjolras appeared from the wooded path.

“I’ve returned for the desserts,” he said stiffly.

“Right, they’re in the basket over there,” Courfeyrac pointed out kindly, though Enjolras more or less ignored him. It was odd. Though he wasn’t quite as close to Enjolras as Combeferre, they had become friendly, so it was odd that Enjolras seemed to want nothing to do with him all of a sudden.

“We should join them,” Marius said cheerfully, and Courfeyrac couldn’t deny him, though it meant he had to put his plans on hold. At least it meant Marius would spend more time around Eliza, and Courfeyrac around Combeferre.

**

“Gabriel, you will never believe what I just found out.”

Cosette’s voice interrupted him very suddenly as she burst into his drawing room.

“Cosette,” he blinked up at her. “What on earth is so pressing?”

“The Combeferres are leaving Northfield Park,” she said, sounding distressed. “I had tea with Eliza and she told me her brother suddenly decided they are to return to London.”

Courfeyrac gaped. “That—it’s simply not possible,” he insisted. “Only days ago Henry invited me to stay with them at Northfield—and before that, he very ardently expressed how much he enjoyed the countryside.”

Cosette looked at him sadly. “All I can tell you is what Eliza told me, and that is that they will be gone in three days’ time.”

“So soon?” Courfeyrac looked at her in shock. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Combeferre leaving—he was so certain that Combeferre had been genuine when he had expressed his preference for the country. More than that, he had been under the impression that Combeferre wanted to stay, well… for him.

It was foolish—incredibly foolish—but Courfeyrac knew that he loved Combeferre. It was inevitable and irresistible, and he had been under the impression that Combeferre felt it too. Now he had to wonder if he was wrong.

The only thing to be done was to reach out to Combeferre and find out what exactly was happening.

After thanking Cosette, Courfeyrac immediately left for Northfield Park. Only, when he arrived he was turned away.

“I’m sorry,” the servant said. “But Mr. Combeferre is not available at the moment. I can tell him you came by.”

Courfeyrac was not satisfied, but the servant would not relent and insisted that he had to leave.

When Combeferre didn’t come to visit him after that, Courfeyrac returned to Northfield Park the next day. Again, a servant dismissed him.

The following day, he came back again, far more insistent; he refused to let Combeferre leave without seeing him first.

“I must see him. It is urgent and I cannot leave until I see him,” Courfeyrac insisted firmly, to the point that the servant gave in.

Shortly after, Combeferre entered the room.

Courfeyrac was struck with a horrible feeling, his stomach heavy. He could tell by the firm look of Combeferre’s face and the coldness of his posture that nothing he would hear would be good.

“Henry,” Courfeyrac started out, desperation in his tone. “Henry, I heard from Cosette that you are leaving—tell me it isn’t true.”

“It is,” Combeferre said flatly.

“Why?” he asked. “What could make you leave so suddenly?”

“It is not your concern, Mr. Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac could feel the ice in his words and it hurt. “I don’t understand.” He tried to control the pain in his voice, but couldn’t. “Will you be back, at least?”

“No,” Combeferre’s voice was unwavering and harsh. “I have decided to sell the property.”

“I don’t understand,” Courfeyrac repeated, reeling.

“My family appreciated your hospitality,” he continued, ignoring Courfeyrac entirely. “But I think it best we terminate our acquaintanceship. Now I must ask you to leave, there is much to be done before we leave tomorrow morning.”

Courfeyrac watched as Combeferre turned to leave him, feeling his heart sink slowly. “Henry, _please_ ,” he begged, not sure what he was begging for, but Combeferre didn’t turn or slow his gait.

It was over. 


	4. July 18th

_Dear Henry,_

_I still am not sure why you left. No one seems to know a thing. But I can tell you that you left a hole in all of our hearts, mine especially. I am told you have not yet sold Northfield Park, and I ask you to reconsider. Whatever it is you are going through, I would like to help you in any way I can. Please, remember what you enjoyed about the country and speak to me._

_Yours,_

_Gabriel Courfeyrac_


	5. August 6th

_Dear Henry,_

_I know you have not responded to any of my letters so far, but I am not giving up hope. You are a dear friend to me and I refuse to let you throw it away. In the span of a few months, I came to admire you so greatly that my life truly feels empty without your presence. I only ask that you reply to me and help me understand why you left so suddenly. I cannot comprehend what I did wrong._

_Please, Henry, I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Gabriel Courfeyrac_


	6. September 30th

_Dear Henry,_

_You win. I will stop writing you, I realize now that it is hopeless. I imagine it is likely you have not read any of my many letters. I wonder why I am writing this at all, but I suppose I will always hold out some small bit of hope that our time together meant half as much to you as it did to me._

_I also wish to apologize for what it is I did to you. I still do not understand—cannot understand—but I am certain that it must have been my doing. I never did anything to intentionally hurt you, and to know that I did pains me almost as much as your absence does._

_I wish you and your sisters only the best._

_Yours forever,_

_Gabriel Courfeyrac_


	7. Moving On

“Are you ready to move on?”

Courfeyrac made a low groaning noise. This wasn’t the first time Cosette said as much, though she had certainly become less gentle about it. “Can we not have an enjoyable afternoon tea together without your pushing?”

“If you could stop moping,” she returned.

Courfeyrac scowled. “I am not moping.”

“You are,” Cosette insisted, matter-of-fact. “You have been for months, ever since—“

“Cosette, please—“

“—Ever since he left,” she finished firmly. “If you want to be happy again, you must let it go.”

Courfeyrac sighed, swirling his spoon around in his tea distractedly. “I am doing my best, Cosette.”

Cosette looked at him sympathetically— _pitying_. Courfeyrac hated it. “You have not been yourself lately.”

“How can I be? I don’t trust myself, anymore,” Courfeyrac said wildly. His own outburst surprised him. “I thought I understood people, Cosette. I thought I could read emotions. But I was wrong about Marius and Eliza—neither of them cared for the other—and, more importantly, I was wrong about Henry.”

 “Your silly attempt at matchmaking was not the same thing as what happened with Combeferre,” Cosette insisted.

“It amounted to the same thing,” Courfeyrac argued stubbornly.

Cosette shook her head at him. “You were wrong about Marius and Eliza because you were so concerned with matchmaking that you overlooked the details,” she said sternly. “You _wanted_ to make them happy together, so you imagined they took interest in one another beyond that of friendship. If you had looked a little closer—if you hadn’t wanted it to be true so badly—you would have seen it.”

Though Courfeyrac knew it, it still stung to hear. He _had_ been more concerned with making his friends happy that he hadn’t quite thought about what would do that. But more than that… “I did the same with Henry,” he said softly. “I wanted…. And it was never true.”

Cosette frowned at him. “I admit, I do not know exactly what occurred between the two of you,” she said. “But I also cannot imagine you were entirely wrong about him.”

“If I wasn’t, then why did he leave me?” His voice cracked and he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. “I apologize—I just need a moment—“

“Don’t apologize,” Cosette insisted softly. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

Courfeyrac had trouble believing that, but he nodded as he wiped at his eyes.

“Mr. Courfeyrac,” The housekeeper said as she entered the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a vistor.”

He sniffled and finished wiping away his tears. “Who is it?”

She hesitated. “A Mr. Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes went wide in surprise. He looked at Cosette, whose expression matched his. “What should I do?” he whispered, as if speaking too loud would alert Combeferre.

“It’s up to you,” Cosette told him, though he could tell she had a strong opinion  behind the impartial front.

Courfeyrac took a deep breath. And then another. “Take Mr. Combeferre to the parlor. I will join him in a moment.”

The housekeeper nodded and left.

“Why do you think he is here? What should I say to him? _How_ should I say it? Should I be angry or beg for forgiveness?” He babbled shamelessly until Cosette shushed him gently.

“Calm yourself, Gabriel,” she said with a firm, guiding tone. “You will ask him why he’s here, listen to what he has to say, and then respond appropriately.

He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I will.”

Courfeyrac stood, straightening his jacket. This wasn’t a big deal—he could handle this. He spoke to people all the time, how was this any different? It wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he was still in love with Combeferre, even though Combeferre had left and broken his heart. No. He could do this, no problem.

He entered the parlor and it felt like the breath was knocked out of him when he saw Combeferre sat on his sofa. He got that feeling again when he realized Combeferre was sat with his mother.

“Ah, Gabriel. I was just telling this young man how distressed his absence has left you.”

Courfeyrac flushed. “ _Mother_ ,” he did his best to not sound like an impetuous child. “Would you please give us some privacy? You seem to be feeling better and I am sure Cosette would love you to join her in the drawing room.”

With a mischievous smile, she nodded and slowly left the room.

“You should not listen to a word she says,” Courfeyrac said as soon as she was gone, pacing a little as he imagined what she _might_ have said. “I imagine she exaggerated greatly.”

Combeferre was staring at him like he couldn’t believe his eyes—and Courfeyrac felt very suddenly self-conscious.

“What?” he asked, straightening his jacket again.

“Did I really hurt you so much?” he asked softly. “I read your letters but… it never occurred to me that I… I am so sorry, Gabriel, you must believe me.”

At that Courfeyrac was lost. He sat on the armchair closest to Combeferre, examining him carefully. “Why are you here, Henry?”

Combeferre looked embarrassed, running a hand through his hair. “I hoped… I hoped you might forgive me. I made a grievous mistake—I should have known better, but I was so blinded and… I miss you. I miss you so much, I have been informed I am miserable to be around.”

Courfeyrac had to hold back from smiling because he was still upset and confused. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you leave?”

Combeferre looked down at his lap, then back up at Courfeyrac. There was so much regret in his expression that Courfeyrac wanted to forgive him immediately. “Enjolras overheard you that day we had a picnic,” he said, and Courfeyrac was still lost. Combeferre must have seen it in his face, because he soon clarified. “You said nothing would please you more than to marry a Combeferre, and that my sister is beautiful.”

“I did. To Marius,” Courfeyrac agreed as he remembered, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I thought you wanted to marry her—that you were only spending time with me to win my blessing.”

“What?” Courfeyrac couldn’t restrain his outburst.

Combeferre looked flustered. “Enjolras only heard part of the conversation, and only a few days before Eliza had spoken highly of you and how you had charmed her during your shopping trip together.”

Courfeyrac remembered that too and could piece together the wrong picture that Combeferre had made. “I was only trying to play matchmaker for her and Marius.”

“I know that now,” Combeferre sounded apologetic. “Marius ran into me recently and told me the whole story.”

The timing made more sense now, he supposed, but… “The idea of me marrying your sister upset you so much you moved without warning and decided to never speak to me again?”

Combeferre flinched at the accusation. “I was wrong to do so,” he admitted. “But I was so jealous—so hurt. I thought you had manipulated my feelings, all to marry my sister.”

“Your feelings?” Courfeyrac repeated, butterflies in his stomach.

“You must know how I feel,” Combeferre flushed. “I know it isn’t proper—that I _shouldn’t_. But I do.”

“Say it,” Courfeyrac begged. “Please.”

Combeferre paused, meeting his gaze full on. “I love you,” he said softly.

Courfeyrac smiled slowly. “I love you too.”

And just like that, it was out in the open.

“Can you forgive me?” Combeferre asked. “After all that I did to hurt you?”

“Of course.”

Combeferre looked at him in awe, as if it was truly a surprising thing.

Courfeyrac moved to sit beside him on the sofa, resting a hand on Combeferre’s thigh. Combeferre’s hand came down on top of his immediately. “I understand,” he said. “This isn’t easy—and we never… we should have talked about it from the start.”

Combeferre nodded.

“And I love you,” Courfeyrac said again, feeling giddy. “I don’t want to live without you all because of a mistake.”

Combeferre took his hand, bringing it up to his lips. “You are too good to me.”

Courfeyrac smiled softly. “Say it again.”

That earned a laugh, a gorgeously happy sound. “I love you.”

Courfeyrac leaned in to kiss him, and they didn’t part for some time.


	8. Epilogue

“Our guests have arrived, Gabriel.”

Courfeyrac practically ran down the stairs when he heard his mother’s call. He grinned when he saw Combeferre and three of his sisters in the entryway, and he only just restrained himself from throwing himself into Combeferre’s arms.

“Hi,” he grinned.

“Hi,” Combeferre said with a matching grin.

Courfeyrac knew his mother and the sisters were all watching them, smiling and judging.

“I am so pleased you agreed to stay with us for a while,” Courfeyrac said, ever the good host.

“Thank you again for inviting us,” Combeferre replied, still smiling. “I know my sisters will benefit from some motherly influence.”

“Yes, _that_ is why we are staying with you,” the youngest sister said with a sly look.

Courfeyrac’s mother had the gall to laugh. But she did also, very kindly, add, “Girls, why don’t we retire to the drawing room and let the men do as they please?”

As soon as they were gone, Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Combeferre’s neck and leaned up to kiss him soundly. “Hi,” he said again as their kiss ended.

Combeferre laughed pleasantly. “Hi.” He placed a peck of a kiss to Courfeyrac’s nose.

“How is Eliza and her husband? Enjoying their new property?”

“So far,” Combeferre said. “Though I hear Northfield Park is haunted.”

Courfeyrac laughed, leaning up to kiss him again. “So, shall I show you to your room?”

“I would rather you show me to yours,” Combeferre replied cheekily.

Courfeyrac faked a gasp. “How forward of you, sir. I’m not that kind of man.”

“You are _exactly_ that kind of man,” Combeferre grinned, pulling away and taking Courfeyrac’s hand.

Courfeyrac smiled softly, looking at their intertwined fingers. He was filled with visions of their future—of all the freedom they would have now and all the time they could spend together.

“Shall we go?” Combeferre said.

“Yes, of course.”

And they did.  


End file.
